


A clear call that may not be denied

by exmanhater



Category: Ocean's 8
Genre: Banter, F/F, Feelings, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater
Summary: Debbie Ocean figures out life after prison, heists, and men.





	A clear call that may not be denied

**Author's Note:**

> Because the only thing this movie needed was Debbie on the back of Lou's bike. Many, many thanks to scintilla10 for the beta work and title help (title is from Sea Fever by John Masefield because I just couldn't get any ocean puns to work), and to psocoptera for the encouragement and beta.

Lou shows up six months after everyone goes their separate ways, which breaks every pattern in their long history. Lou has always ( _always_ ) been there when Debbie needs her, but Debbie goes to her. Lou's never done this before. Debbie is surprised enough to let it show, and Lou smirks at her.

"Not going to let me in, then?" she says, slouching in the doorway while Debbie stares. She fucking well knows Debbie's going to let her in. Debbie still tilts her head, pretending to consider.

"I did come a very long way to see you," Lou continues. There's just a tiny glimmer of something in her eyes, something new that Debbie doesn't know how to understand yet. Lou tosses her hair back and the moment vanishes as Debbie is distracted by the flashes of diamonds in her ears.

"Well, since you came a very long way," Debbie says, and steps back from the door to let Lou in.

Lou only has a small bag with her, and she's wearing a leather jacket and leather pants along with her biker boots. The only surprise is that Lou didn't bring her bike up to the penthouse with her. The freight elevator's big enough, and Lou is usually pretty damn adamant about not leaving her baby on the street.

"It's in a garage I trust," Lou says, answering the unasked question, but it only prompts more questions in Debbie's mind. A garage means Lou is staying for a while, and Debbie can't guess why. It's not a scheme—Debbie's the schemer, and if Lou did have a job to pull, she'd just text Debbie where to show up. She wouldn't come in person.

Debbie leaves the questions locked behind her real pleasure at seeing Lou, and gestures to her spare room. "There's a bed for you," she says. "What do you want for dinner?"

Lou tosses her bag into the room and strips off her jacket. Underneath is a tanktop and the usual clatter of necklaces, so whatever else may have changed, Lou still isn't anyone other than herself.

"Anything, as long as all we have to do to eat it is sit here and wait for someone to bring it to us," Lou says, and Debbie hears real exhaustion in her voice. She wonders how long Lou had been driving to get here.

"Sushi," Debbie decides, and makes the order quickly on her phone.

"Don't forget the—" Lou starts, and Debbie snorts.

"When have I ever forgotten the spicy tuna rolls?" she says, showing Lou the order confirmation screen.

"2008, San Francisco." Lou says it with another smirk, one that Debbie finds strangely irresistible. It always makes her want to argue.

This time, she concedes the point with a tip of her head. "But I didn't forget them today," she says.

"She can learn," Lou murmurs, and Debbie feels that _something_ again, a strange new part of Lou. 

The food arrives and Debbie opens a bottle of wine, and they eat and catch up with each other. The _something_ wanders in and out of Lou's eyes and conversation, but never in a way that makes sense to Debbie. 

"Nice place," Lou comments, waving her chopsticks around to indicate the floor to ceiling windows. "How's your footprint?"

Debbie tries to swallow her last bite and waves her own hand in a gesture she hopes indicates 'Nineball took care of it.'

"Good," Lou says, because of course she understands what Debbie's trying to say. "Planning to stay here, then?" She's avoiding Debbie's eyes, as if she doesn't want to know the real answer.

Debbie keeps her own voice light and doesn't poke at the strange mood the way she wants to, like pressing on a sore tooth until the pain starts feeling good. "I might," she says. "For a while."

Lou looks away and nods, refocusing on her wine glass. Debbie changes the subject and tries not to think about the one impossible reason for Lou to be here and acting this way. 

After they've eaten, Lou changes into a pair of borrowed pajamas and takes off her makeup, which makes her look more, not less, dignified. Debbie's always found that extremely unfair.

"Breakfast out or in?" she asks, before Lou disappears behind the trendy hanging barn door her decorator had insisted on that frames the guestroom. It's only nine pm, but Lou is clearly tired.

"Surprise me," Lou says, and raises an eyebrow in a dare.

Debbie smiles.

+++

The thing is, Debbie never meant to retire, and had, in fact, thought it would be impossible to even try. She bought the penthouse to have a safe home base in New York, not to actually live in it. She had three others in reserve, in different countries and cities. When Constance did things like give them a virtual tour of her new space via skateboard in the group text, Debbie had always smiled to herself, and felt very old and wise and above all that shit. And she had traveled—she'd spent the first few months after the job wandering around Europe, entertaining herself by defrauding asshole businessmen of their ill-gotten gains, but it had become boring much more quickly then she'd expected.

She'd gone to Vegas, then. That had been a mistake.

Back in New York, she'd spent the last three weeks choosing art pieces for the penthouse based on how much Claude would hate them, and then selling all of them and choosing things she actually liked, because she'd be fucked if she ever made decisions based on him again.

The penthouse looks like it's trying to become a real place, and she wonders what Lou thinks of it. Lou's always been the person whose existence pushes her into existential crisis, even if her presence can only be tenuously connected to whatever midlife bullshit Debbie's brain is pulling on her. She's never wanted to be tied to a single place any more than Lou has, and yet, she's still feeling unmoored in a way she never has before, no matter where she's lived or for how long. 

The feeling is exacerbated by not knowing why Lou is really here. Debbie doesn't want to let herself believe it's anything other than their usual push and pull, no matter the break in routine that is Lou coming to her rather than the other way around. But there's a tiny part of her that wonders if Lou is having the same thoughts now that they both have access to everything they've ever wanted; if Lou also feels like maybe it still isn't enough. 

Lying in bed, very aware of the mystery on the other side of the wall in the form of her closest friend, Debbie is close to falling off the precipice of wanting to make herself a real home. It would probably be a worse mistake than Vegas, but she hasn't convinced herself either way by dawn. 

Crisis or not, Debbie refuses to be a bad host. Well, she refuses to lose a dare to Lou, at least, so when Lou emerges looking like she's just had a weekend at a spa instead of a night on someone's spare bed, there's a full spread of real New York bagels and lox covering the dining room table, along with coffee and orange juice and champagne.

"Did you invite a football team?" Lou says, but she wastes no time in fixing herself a plate.

"You're welcome," Debbie says, and pours Lou a mimosa. They clink their glasses together, and Debbie thinks about asking the question. But it still doesn't feel right, and she lets the moment pass.

The rest of the week is filled with good food, better wine, and more backroom poker games than Debbie's seen in a while. It's always easy to fall into step with Lou and stop worrying about the future. Well, it's easy when Debbie doesn't have a plan to execute that was five years in the making. Lou doesn't offer any explanations about her visit, and Debbie continues not asking.

Debbie is expecting Lou to leave, despite all the signs that she's planned for a long trip. She doesn’t _want_ her to, of course, but Lou always has another ride to take, another adventure to go on, and Debbie's never going to hold her back. The days when she would try to cling harder in an attempt to keep Lou near are long gone, because she'd learned her lesson fairly early on in their partnership. The more you tried to pin Lou down, the further away she'd drift, almost effortlessly, until you were left grasping at empty air. Debbie has long since trained herself not to do that. And besides, she's never sure what she'd _do_ if she had Lou's undivided attention and presence, anyway. She's as terrified of that unanswered question as she is of Lou leaving again.

But Lou stays.

They get kicked out of her favorite local bar after they win too many games of pool and make the bartender uneasy. They laugh their way down the streets back to Debbie's building, Debbie tripping in her heels, hanging on to Lou's arm to keep from falling.

"That was my favorite place to drink, you asshole," Debbie complains. "You're ruining my neighborhood!"

"You're planning to stay here that long?" Lou asks, eyebrow arched. She pulls Debbie smoothly out of the way of a pile of trash on the sidewalk.

"I might!" Debbie says. "You don't know!"

Lou smirks, and although Debbie's vision is currently a bit fuzzy, she thinks she sees something other than teasing in Lou's eyes.

"You've never wanted a home before," Lou says, still keeping Debbie upright and their progress down the sidewalk unimpeded, though her voice sounds oddly strained. "You're acting very strangely, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Debbie manages to raise her middle finger. "You're not the boss of me," she informs Lou, who ignores her in order to fish her keys out of her back pocket.

Once Lou has them safely inside the apartment, Debbie collapses on the floor in front of the couch, and Lou gets shot glasses before joining her.

"Are we going to steal something?" Debbie asks finally and without grace, watching with interest as Lou pours them both another shot of whatever bottle she stole from the last bar before they'd gotten kicked out. "Is that why you're here?"

"Could it be that I just like spending time with you?"

"Well," Debbie starts, then can't seem to find any more words. Lou is smiling at her, her long fingers still wrapped around the liquor bottle.

"It's something friends do, you see," Lou continues, and Debbie may be drunk, but she can still tell when she's being laughed at.

"You're not a friend," she says indignantly, without meaning to at all. "You're my—you're my _Lou_."

Lou's face does something complicated, but she smiles. "I am at that," she mutters, but Debbie still hears it.

"You know what I mean," Debbie says, and makes the mistake of looking Lou in the face.

The _something_ is back in Lou's eyes, flashing in her dangerous smile as she drains another shot glass. Debbie is drunk enough to let herself sway, drawn in by Lou's magnetism. Her eyes are locked on Lou's throat as she swallows, and her head leans in toward Lou without her permission. Lou doesn't move away, almost imperceptibly moving closer, capturing Debbie's gaze and not letting it go. She smells like citrus.

Debbie reaches out a hand and pushes Lou's bangs back. Her skin is so luminous and her face seems easier to read than it ever has, and for a long moment Debbie thinks it will actually happen. She'll ask, or Lou will tell, and the secret won't be a secret any longer.

Then it's gone. Lou's face closes off again, and she stands in one fluid motion, as if she hasn't been drinking for hours.

"It's not fair," Debbie says, then snickers to herself. "I did not mean to say that out loud," she says, and Lou smiles at her. It's a contained smile, though, not the wide, unrestrained feeling she'd been letting through before. Debbie feels cheated out of it, even though it's her own damn fault for getting drunk and not being able to read the room.

"Drink some water, or you'll regret it," Lou says, and disappears into the spare room.

Debbie manages water, but not much else before she crashes.

+++

It's not like Debbie's never thought about it. Of course she has. Lou is the most singularly charismatic and attractive person Debbie has ever known.

Men are easier. Until Claude, men were safer, too. Lou is infinitely dangerous, exactly like her perfect smoky eye. Their friendship would survive a drunken one night stand; Debbie's not worried about that. When she's honest with herself, she's terrified to find out if it would be a one night stand after all, or if she'd get to have all the parts of Lou and Lou's life that she's never been able to access before, and give Lou her own secrets in return. She's not sure what scares her the most, but she is sure she's never wanted to risk finding out. Before now.

Now, it feels like she could actually lose Lou if she doesn’t speak up. That changes the game.

The next morning, Debbie wakes up to a glass of water and ibuprofen on her nightstand. By the time she feels able to stand up, the smell of bacon is coming from the kitchen, which is surprising because she's pretty sure no one has ever used her kitchen for actual cooking before.

She follows the smell and finds Lou standing at the stove, looking like she's never had alcohol in her life.

"Are you actually a witch?" Debbie asks.

Lou snorts, and pushes a mug of coffee across the counter. "Don't be ridiculous," she says. "If I were a witch, Claude wouldn't just be in jail. Also, I probably wouldn't have to fly commercial."

"Fuck Claude," Debbie says, and drinks her coffee.

When they've eaten and Debbie can think again after a few more cups of coffee, she gathers her courage and asks the question.

"Are you here for me?"

Lou puts down her fork and sighs.

Debbie leans next to Lou against the counter and nudges her shoulder. "C'mon, what can't you tell me? Did you get drunk and marry Daphne Kluger in Vegas?"

Lou rolls her eyes, but her smile is genuine. "Brat," she says, and knocks back against Debbie's arm companionably.

Debbie waits patiently.

"I suppose I'm ready to move into a new phase of life," Lou says finally. "And I wondered if you were ready, too."

In her peripheral vision, Debbie can see Lou's hands, fingers pushing into her palms, white knuckles belying her casual tone.

"Is being a lesbian really a new kind of life for you?" Debbie says, because she can't quite get her real answer out of her mouth.

That earns her a punch to the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm—I'm getting there, I promise."

Lou turns to face her. "It's not an ultimatum," she says. "I'm not going to leave you forever if you're not ready now. But—" and Debbie hears real fatigue in her voice—"I'm ready to move on to _something_ , and I'm not going to wait anymore if you decide that's not you."

Debbie lets the wash of conflicted feelings pass before she speaks. There's a bit of guilt, of course, but she knows Lou wouldn't want her to feel that way. She wouldn't have been ready before jail, before Claude, but now—now, maybe she is.

"I want to be," she says. "But you know me, I'm sort of a fuck-up when it comes to emotions."

"And I'm not?" Lou says, eyebrow arched. "Anyway, I think we've proved that we can make it through pretty much anything together."

That's true, at least. Debbie lets Lou pull her in, skin buzzing with anticipation. "You don't like being tied down," she says, scrabbling for reasons to slow the rush of her feelings and the way Lou is moving ever closer.

Lou smirks and runs her hands over Debbie's hips. "Depends on the context," she says, and Debbie shivers as she imagines it. "Besides, you can come with me."

"Will that still be the adventure you're always wanting to go on?"

"Adventures don't have to be solo to be real adventures," Lou says, her lips just shy of touching Debbie's neck. "I know you have a leather jacket, and we can get you a helmet."

"And when I get bored and decide to steal a country with a small crew, or when you get bored and hare off to Brazil?"

"There are no guarantees in life," Lou agrees, her hands pressing up Debbie's back, cool fingers underneath her shirt, making her skin pebble with goosebumps. "But that's the fun of it. You can plan," she moves her mouth to Debbie's ear, whispering. "—I like your plans—and I can dismantle them or refine them or talk you out of them."

Debbie gasps as Lou bites her earlobe softly. "So, what we always do?" she manages.

Lou pulls back and smiles. "Exactly," she says. "Face it, all your plans end up better when I'm in them."

"That’s—" That's absolutely the truth, and Debbie knows Lou can read it in her face. She doesn't need to say it.

Lou's knowing grin turns serious after a moment. "I won't ask for anything you don't want to give," she says. "We both know who we are. But we can be who we are together, even when we're apart. That's what we do best."

"When you're right, you're right," Debbie says, and grabs Lou's hips, pulls her in closer, and finally kisses the smirk right off her face.

It's much, much better than she even thought it would be.

+++

At the first stop for gas, Lou buys her Starbucks and tosses her a candy bar. "Eat," she says. "You're getting cranky."

"Rude," Debbie says, but she gratefully eats the chocolate while Lou fusses with the bike.

They get back on the road, and Debbie wishes she didn't need the helmet so she could really feel the wind, but she can't actually complain. Better than the wind, the view, or the rumble of the bike beneath her is the feeling of Lou in front of her, muscles tightly controlled and warm body keeping Debbie from freezing.

She's never felt this anchored, yet this free. Forget New York, forget apartments, forget new jobs—Lou is as much of a home as she'll ever have, and that's way better than a penthouse.

They hit a large enough town to get a decent hotel that night, and make the most of clean sheets and air conditioning. The sex is good enough that Debbie spends most of the afterglow wondering why the fuck she put this off for so long. Lou kisses her slowly after, like they didn't just spend the last two hours fucking, and heads to the bathroom. Debbie stretches, then grabs what she thinks is her phone. She doesn't put it down when she realizes it's actually Lou's.

"Wait, why am I still 'jailbird' in your phone?" Debbie rolls over in bed and holds up the offending screen to Lou, even though she's still in the bathroom and can't possibly see it.

Silence.

"Lou? Seriously, what the fuck?"

Lou pops her head out of the bathroom and smirks. "Don't be mad," she says, in a tone specifically designed to make Debbie mad. "It's hilarious."

Debbie rolls her eyes. "You're insufferable," she says.

Lou just laughs. "Get used to it, baby," she says, and disappears back into the bathroom.

The hell of it is, Debbie probably will. She'll probably like it.

 

[the end.]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] A clear call that may not be denied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213743) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods), [the24thkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the24thkey/pseuds/the24thkey)




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